


I Bet

by Poppedthep



Series: I Bet Verse [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Long, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppedthep/pseuds/Poppedthep
Summary: When Vanjie becomes a big mainstream star, Brooke Lynn gradually sees less and less of him.It takes Brock a long time to realize how much he misses Jose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by the song I Bet by Ciara and by Brooke Lynn’s Whatcha Packin interview and by the chorus of Missin You Crazy I heard in a Branjie edit, as well as of course by recent happenings in general. 
> 
> It exists in the same universe as my Branjie one shots, which all take place prior to this. In this installment my Branjieverse definitely becomes a very fantastical AU. 
> 
> This story is VERY long so get comfy! Truly, novel length. My Branjie magnum opus. You might want to take breaks. I split it into parts. 
> 
> As I mentioned with the other fics, these characters are inspired by what we’re shown of real events but are completely and totally fictional - even moreso in this story where the characters diverge a bit from what you might call “canon”.

Brock sees less and less of Jose as the months pass.

When his Netflix show Miss Vanjie Of Love comes out, it’s a huge hit and Jose catapults to a level of fame beyond anything a Ru Girl has before.

He’s not just gaymous. He becomes mainstream. People get to see the guy behind Vanjie, fall in love with him too.

He’s in Rihanna’s music video, rapping on Cardi B’s album. His other show on VH1 is beating Drag Race in the ratings and it’s literally just following him and his mom around, editing together the hilarious things he says. People knew and loved Miss Vanjie, now they also know and love Jose. A star himself as well as in drag.

Jose is charm incarnate and the world is charmed. He presents the MTV Movie awards, does a skit at the Oscars, guest hosts SNL. His makeup line is in department stores, Sephoras, next to the MAC counter he used to work at in Tampa. His old colleagues brag that they knew him when, tell stories about how he was always so sweet and down to earth and talented, they knew he’d be a star one day.

A relatable hopeful hardworking good hearted underdog. So cute, so funny, so charming, so energetic, so instantly feel-good the moment he switches it on. He becomes the world’s sweetheart.

It’s when he starts work on his Netflix movie that he really drops out of communication. It’s not intentional - he’s sweet and congenial as ever on the rare occasions they see him. He’s just so busy now it's impossible to keep up with everyone as much as he used to.

Ru Girls start chatting about when they saw him last, dropping anecdotes of lunch or drinks like they’d talk about meeting Britney.

When he drops by Mickys or The Abbey everyone gets jazzed but he’s the same as ever - full of fun, energy and warmth - still grounded, kind and humble despite everything - the first to laugh at himself, to grab the mic from the host and make a joke from the audience, to buy a round of drinks for the group and tip with a hundred. He’s sweet and gracious to every fan, always agreeing to pictures, no matter how inconvenient. Eventually he gets so mobbed by fans at clubs he can’t join them at their usual LA spots. He shows up to Silky’s birthday with an actual bodyguard and then stops going altogether.

It’s months since they’ve texted.

Brooke saw him briefly backstage before a Drag Con panel a few weeks ago. They caught eyes and smiled for a second across the room.

A group of Ru Girls were clamoring to kiki with Vanjie, get a hug, find out his latest tea, get a shot with Vanjie for their Insta stories. Brooke, statuesque even out of heels, winked at him over the top of everyone’s heads. Even from a distance Vanjie’s smile lit up a room like the sun.

Brooke wanted to go over and talk properly but didn’t go right away, playing it cool, not wanting to be one of the thirsty girls popping their tucks to say hey. But it became clear there wouldn’t be an opening for a moment alone.

Then Vanjie was ushered out for the panel before Brooke could reach him through the pack of girls. Whisked off when the panel ended. Brooke saw him taking photos with as many fans as he could on his way out.

Brock thought about texting him later that night but realised he didn’t particularly have anything to say. It was just nice to see him. So he didn’t text anything. It felt silly and sad in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Instead Brock posted three pictures of his gorgeous Drag Con look.

Vanjie didn’t like any of them. Not that Brock was waiting for him to. He stopped really noticing whether Jose liked a picture or not probably around the time Jose hit 20 million followers and stopped having the time to notice much on Instagram.

Several interesting options slid into Brock’s DMs after the posts and he tried to decide if it was worth getting dressed up to go out and meet one of them, if he had enough energy to meet more than one, or if he’d rather take a bath and curl up in bed.

He loved sex but he was very tired. He was tired all the time lately. Perks of working hard and getting old.

Brock’s been busy since tour ended. Not as busy as Jose - no one has - but bookings have been regular. He did two tours of Europe, Australia and South America with the Top Four, then Plastique and Nina, before the bookers decided to focus on bringing over more recent girls. He walked Marco Marco twice and has done some magazine shoots. The Twinsies tour with Detox and Kameron was a hit in the US and South America. The dance single Eggs with Trixie made a lot of money for charity. He’s in talks for the next Werq the World. He put out feelers for a UK tour with his booker contact recently and they said they can probably slot him into Heels of Hell later in the year and does he by any chance have Vanjie’s current number?

Brock can’t complain. It’s better than a lot of Ru Girls have done off Drag Race. He’s working steadily. He’ll be financially set for life. Fans still buy his merch and a solid hardcore group of them follow him around to every meet and greet, like every post. A steady influx of people continue to call him mommy on twitter and ask him to step on their necks.

He got to do his own show over the holidays. A festive ballet parody of The Nutcracker he choreographed and starred in - help from Nina on lyrics. It was great to do something new and the Nuts-Cracker got good reviews. As someone who doubts his creative voice it felt good to create something well received. He thinks they’ll expand to more venues next year.

He finally moved Henry and Apollo to a nice LA apartment last year and last week he bought a designer leather jacket that looks great on him, something he never would have afforded before.

He’s doing everything he dreamed.

It’s a good life. It feels a little empty. Hollow some days. But maybe that’s just life?

Sometimes shows are great and he remembers why he does this. Sometimes he has drinks with friends and laughs about nothing until he snorts, kisses everyone on the mouth, and feels on top of the world. Sometimes he gets to visit home and hug his nieces and nephews, be amazed by the people they’re growing into.

Other times he feels like he’s going through the motions.

A lot of Ru Girls feel that way after - they all commiserate about it over drinks often enough - so Brock doesn’t worry too much about it. If anything, after growing up struggling to hold back waves of emotions that felt terrifyingly overwhelming, it’s almost a relief to feel nothing.

Brock just doesn’t know what to do next. Working towards career goals always gave his life meaning. It feels like he’s reached the ceiling of how far he can go with his drag career. He wants a new challenge. He feels like he’s waiting for something to give him purpose again. Something to make life feel like more than a series of actions - some of them pleasurable actions, but routine nonetheless.

He wants to feel alive, to feel things like he used to. Not in the overwhelming days, but a couple years ago when the world felt his for the taking and full of possibility.

He has friends and family he loves who fill out some meaning in his life beyond career of course, treasured dinners talking late into the night in Nashville or South Africa or Toronto or LA. But it’s hard to see any of them as often as he’d like. Everyone’s so busy with their own things, lots of friends starting to settle down with families (which is a whole world Brock can’t even comprehend) or moving away for work or love, starting new journeys.

He meets new people all the time travelling for work but they often start to blur into similar types. He still enjoys people, he’s a social person, but no one’s surprised him in a long time.

Sometimes it feels like there’s no one exciting left to meet and nothing exciting left to do. Fuck, he’s getting old. He’s even sounding old in his own head.

It’s summer in LA and he sees a Grindr hookup out and flops into bed to fall asleep to Netflix.

This hookup didn’t know who he was, which is always refreshing. It’s always a bit weird when they know, worse when they’re a fan. As a narcissist and exhibitionist he’d thought before Drag Race he’d be into that and was surprised to find he’s really not. Something about the uneven power dynamic is just so unsexy.

Henry jumps on the bed and snuggles into him and Brock kisses his head. He turns off the lights except his lamp and wonders if he should rewatch House of Cards for the fourth time or start something new.

A trailer pops up at the top of Netflix for Jose’s new movie. It starts playing automatically.

Jose’s iconic gravelly trucker voice fills the room, his dark eyes sparkling on Brock’s laptop as he grins all teeth and cuteness and Brock laughs at the dumb brilliant jokes, realising half way through he’s smiling wider than he has in days. He literally feels lighter. Jose makes him laugh harder than most people can.

He looks down and sees Henry watching the screen intently, as though he remembers Jose, and laughs even harder.

Jose stirs something in his stomach. He pauses the trailer and looks at his frozen smile. His smile is unfairly cute, it could melt anyone’s heart just to look at it. He seems to glow from within, always the most alive person in any room.

And, fuck, he’s a movie star. It’s amazing. It’s sexy. Jose has always been sexy but this is something else. Brock isn’t shallow, but his whole life has been the pursuit of perfection, a classic high achiever, and he can’t help finding it sexy when someone is very fucking good at their job.

Brock is not a romantic type who would say Jose is what is missing in his life.

But the thought of him makes Brock feel alive and excited in a way he hasn’t felt since holding hands out of shot beneath the bench in the werq room, drawing circles on Vanjie’s palm with his thumb, a firm tan hand squeezing its way up his thigh under their sweaters in the back of the van. A sweet schoolboy romance at thirty two with the last person he would ever have imagined himself with. Two up and coming queens who had the world at their feet and were about to jump headfirst into it, holding hands.

He misses Jose. Really misses him. As soon as it hits him, Brock wonders why he didn’t realise it sooner.

Has the ADD medication been numbing his emotions? For how long?

How did he go this long without realizing life feels a bit emptier without Jose’s presence?

It’s easy for time to fly by when you’re busy with work. There’s no time to get lonely. And it’s not loneliness. Brock is not a person who gets lonely on his own. He doesn’t have a need for someone in general.

But he misses Jose specifically.

On tour he took their closeness for granted. Jose was always around to snuggle into, even kiss playfully when he wanted. His Jose-sized human kitty to shower affection on, just like he’d touch tongues with Nina, squeeze Plastique’s knee, wrap his arms around Rajah’s waist, rub Silky’s belly.

Brock is freely affectionate, he always has been. Maybe it comes from feeling so lonely when he was younger, making up for lost time. Maybe it was born or raised into him. With no Henry or Apollo around and no significant other he needs an outlet to give out his cuddles and kisses and strokes and whoever’s around him becomes it.

They were always just friends after breaking up - Brock made sure to make that very clear. He knew he wasn’t ready for what Jose wanted, couldn’t do it with how life was at the time, and the last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt someone so special.

But even as friends they kept a closeness, born from lingering mutual feelings and chemistry and being attractive, touchy people - Brock especially, Jose happy to follow his lead. They didn’t intend to get messy but two people with their history and chemistry spending so much time together, after spending months reliving the beginning of their relationship on national television, playing it up on social media for the fans, they should have known it was inevitable.

Brock had started the tour seated at the very front of the bus with good intentions. He had migrated to the back before they were even half way along the Pacific Coast Highway. Drawn equally by what he could overhear of Vanjie laughing with Silky and A’Keria, not wanting to be left out, and by the moments he couldn’t hear anything, wanting to know what Vanjie was doing in the silence, finding it weird to be in the same space and not next to him for no good reason.

Soon they were sprawled all over each other more often than not. Jose napping against his chest, small hand spread across his heart, sparkly little nails poking out of Brock’s grey hoodie that was far too big for him but he’d claimed for the week. Listening to raindrops on the windows and Jose’s heart beat against his and This American Life in one of Jose’s shared airpods as roads sped by.

Jose’s eyebrows raising and his lips pursing with sass as they bantered reads and bad impressions of each other, as though trying to exorcise all the affection they had left via playful meanness.

Their bodies couldn’t help responding to being around each other, wanting to say something, get some reaction. They would always have chemistry but they couldn’t be together and sometimes they could only channel it into teasing and bickering - going too far the other way as they tried to overcorrect because they wanted to be around each other, wanted to make a friendship work, but didn’t know yet how to be around each other and not be in love.

Some nights on tour Jose’s eyes would linger on Brooke’s thigh muscles through the split in his dress, his ass when he arched his back, his chest while he de-dragged. Brooke would be feeling his oats and turn and pout over his shoulder and catch Jose watching him. Teasing banter would get extra playful, or they’d come back after shows tired and snuggly and horny.

“You be lookin fine out there tonight Miss Brooke Lynn,” or “This bitch a snack, look at them shoulders, that my jush right there” catcalled as they de-dragged.

Sat doing his makeup, turning his head to find Jose stood behind him watching him in the mirror. Catching Brock's chin and muttering, “You got real pretty eyes you know that Brooke Lynn?” just looking at him like he was a sculpture for public perusal.

Those nights they ended up in bed together. Brock asking “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” and Jose grinding into his lap and biting at his creamy collarbone and growling, “Yes bitch, gimme that Canadian bacon.”

When the Dreamgirls started doing a number where they gave a lap dance to someone from the audience Brock got into a bad habit of leaving shows early and bothering Vanjie with texts until he abandoned the trade he was talking to and stopped by Brock’s room on his way back.

He can vividly remember the sick triumph of hearing the door knock after sitting awake wondering if Jose would come. Sitting Jose on the edge of the bed and making him tell him how the number went, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him sweetly. Sloppy kisses torturously slow from his knees up the inside of his thighs, watching Jose’s toes curl into the carpet. Sucking his dick so deep and thoroughly, teasing the pleasure til Jose was shouting his name so loud they got a complaint call from the front desk once. Massaging his asshole with circles of his tongue til Jose was promising his ass secretly belonged to him, swearing it like a sacred blessing.

Looking back that wasn’t the healthiest or most rational behavior.

Brock usually prided himself on rationality. Jose was an exception. It’s not like his irrational logic was justified at all because he slept with other trade on tour himself whenever he felt like it - though he tried to be discreet.

Other times were more accidental, and sweeter. Jose would come knocking to watch The Office together on some downtime. They were on season five back then. They’d sit apart on the bed but look at each other more than the laptop, Jose crawling into his lap before the second episode.

Brock would flip them in the middle, buried deep inside him, chests heaving together, and look down at Jose breathless and perfect beneath him, “I love you,” coming out accidentally when he stroked his cheek because he couldn’t help it, he did.

Jose would surge up to kiss him, “Love you too,” in the soft low version of his voice only Brock got to hear.

Deep kisses, slow and full of feeling. Thrusting so slow and deep it was more connecting than fucking. Gentle and tender as their first time. That addictive level of intimacy with another person, like nothing he’d ever known before.

Then “Can I sleep here?” tentatively, after, Jose’s cautiously hopeful eyes looking up from his armpit and they’d fall asleep tangled together like when they were a couple.

Eventually they stopped doing that because Brock couldn’t handle how sad Jose looked the next day and they’d both end up crying into their breakfast and cuddling each other as though sheer affection alone could change anything.

Then Jose had to leave tour early to start filming his Netflix show and they kept in touch over text.

At first they spoke every day. Jose would facetime him sometimes, in drag or out of it, winking and pouting and talking dirty. Brock mostly resisted the urge to fall into old habits from when they’d dated long distance. If he slipped up once or twice, who could blame him? Jose was fucking gorgeous, Brock was only human.

After a while the facetimes became more consistently PG. Jose bored in his trailer, asking things about Jim and Pam, laughing at Brock’s tour stories, asking him to “Tell Silk’s big ass I miss her.” There was still the odd flirty comment on social media, or a winky face over text, but less over time.

One day Brock saw a meme that made him laugh until he snorted. He started to call Jose without thinking and then stopped, with his finger hovering over Jose’s name, struck with the feeling that it would be too weird to facetime. Too intimate. Too much now. It was usually Jose who called him not the other way around and Jose hadn’t called for a long time now, Brock realised, when he thought about it.

Instead he finally edited the contact name, deleting the yellow heart and spy and eyes emojis next to Jose’s name and saving the new version, feeling mature and sensible.

He opened Grindr to distract himself from the twinge in his chest and sent the funny meme to a hot muscley bearded guy he was chatting to.

It wasn’t the same satisfaction as hearing Vanjie laugh at it, the familiar cackle that always made his heart lighter, but the guy was fucking hot, even taller than Brock with huge juicy biceps, and he wanted to come over so it all turned out well.

He really believed that for a while.

He’d feel a swoop of fondness towards Jose whenever he came up, like people talked about having for their first love. And pride, of course, endless pride, for everything he was doing. Pride and awe, and admiration - because Brock had always found talent indescribably sexy, and Jose revealed new layers of talent every day - becoming the star he was always meant to be. Now quite literally the whole world knew it.

Brock wondered if the fond nostalgic swoop feeling about Jose would ever go away but it didn’t bother him too much. He was too busy to think on it. At times when he found himself especially proud or impressed it bubbled up and he wondered if he should bring up the possibility of getting back together.

But those thoughts passed as soon as they came. Their current lifestyles and schedules were no less incompatible than they had been originally - they’d only run into the same issues all over again. Besides the longer that passed the weirder it would be to be the one to bring it up again.

Since tour and their daily talking trailed off they only saw each other and spoke occasionally, in groups with other mutual friends. There were casual texts between them, private chats among a group when the two of them got caught up in each other and realised half hour had gone by and they’d forgotten to talk to anyone else. With their shared history, knowing each other so well, they had more to talk about with each other than most people. But those became rare. Everyone wanted to get their chat with Jose when they hung out now, it was impossible to get him on his own. It would be weird to start an intense private conversation like that.

When it came up Brock pushed overwhelming pride or admiration or fond nostalgia to the same place he pushed his doubts and fears, his pain from his childhood bullying, all the feelings it did no use to think on.

It’s only now things have slowed down, still busy but not the madness it was around Drag Race and after, now Brock has time to wonder what next.

He realises he’s never had to miss Jose before. If they weren’t at a drag event or hanging with mutual friends he’d hear from Jose frequently either in private or at least a little comment on social media. Even when it stopped being so frequent it was every couple weeks max. It’s understandable he’s stopped calling and texting so much with what his life is becoming but it feels weird to Brock to be the one waiting to hear, wanting to reach out. It’s never been like that with Jose since he’s known him - he always heard from Jose before it came to that.

If he’s honest with himself he always thought they’d end up getting back together one day, at least for a while. For a long time it felt like it would be up to him. Jose would half heartedly date here and there but he still seemed there, ready, even at a distance, for the day Brock was waiting for, the day he’d feel like he could do it, could do them.

Now it hits Brock how far they’ve drifted away from that path, away from each other.

Listening to Jose’s laugh in the dark of his bedroom, watching him wink at the camera on Netflix, seeing his adorable sunshiney smile as he snuggles into his bed alone, Brock is stunned to realise how much he misses him. How wrong it feels that he rarely hears from him anymore.

He opens his messages.

Their last exchange was just:

_Lol_

from Jose at a meme Brock sent of A’Keria’s head on Beyonce’s body. Six months ago. Longer than he thought.

Before that was directions to Aquaria’s New York apartment from weeks before that.

Before that:

_Happy Monday! How are you Mary?!_

from him followed by:

_Good! Which u like better?_

and photos of Jose in two different powder lilac wigs. Brock replied:

_First one! Stunning!_

with fire and clapping emojis. There had been no other response so he’d sent memes of his head on two eggs, which got another:

_Lol_

Before that Brock reaching out to say congrats on Jose’s show getting renewed and just:

_Thx boo!_

in response. Before that him asking:

_Will I see you tomorrow?? Gonna be fun!_

with the dancing girl emoji the day before Nina’s birthday. No response. Then:

_Are you coming??_

from him again on the night.

_Can’t :( Give the bday girl a kiss from me lol_

Sent the following day.

He remembers everyone asking him if Vanjie was coming and feeling embarrassed that he didn’t know. Looking over at the door every time someone came in. Turning down a gorgeous man who invited him on to a house party because it felt too soon to leave. Going home at two and berating himself for staying so much later than he usually would.

Before that him sending Vanjie Plastique’s number. A thumbs up in response.

Before that the address for Soho House in West Hollywood with instructions to call when they get there and he’ll come sign them in.

Nothing of any substance for a long time. Nothing initiated by Jose in even longer. It felt wrong. Not so long ago a week couldn’t go by without Brock hearing what Jose thought or felt about something, what he’d seen or done that day, asking how Brock was, what he was up to.

Now he thinks about it that was so long ago. How did he let it get to this?

_Hey stranger_

he texts.

He notices as soon as it sends that it’s one am and that might seem a bit….uncool. He tells himself it doesn’t matter, and anyway Jose isn’t to know what time zone he’s in.

When did he start feeling like he has to seem cool? It’s Jose. His Jose. He knows perfectly well Brock isn’t cool and he likes him anyway.

Maybe it’s an exes thing.

Brock wouldn’t really know. It’s not like he’s had many. There was that personal trainer for two months last year. That actor from spring two years ago. But Brock couldn’t imagine caring what either of them thought of him. He’d had no real interest in maintaining the friendships after he realized they weren’t going to hold his attention long enough for him to want to commit to anything long term.

He’s tried dating other drag queens since Jose too. It’s not like he has a type, he’s just attracted to sexy men and talent and his life puts him around a lot of drag queens who are sexy and talented. They’re more interesting than regular trade, they have more in common.

But he’s not yet found that same spark with anyone else.

He’s had good sex. With about half the Drag Race alums. And okay sex with a few more. Great sex with just a few.

Great conversation too. But it always felt like hanging with a good Judy. Flirting with a friend. That extra level of romance and sincerity and connection, he’s realized, was all Jose - the full big special heart of himself he brings to every interaction.

Or maybe it was them together. The rare find of a chemistry in an unlikely combination that really works, a spark that catches and burns to a bright flame.

His first boyfriend. His first love. His first time letting himself feel that much with someone. Maybe nothing after ever _could_ compare to that.

Maybe there was something good ahead. Different, it would have to be, because there was only one Jose, but maybe better suited for Brock. His first love had been all romance and butterflies and daydreams. Maybe there was something that sweet and good but more real, practical, sustainable in his future.

If there was he hadn't seen any sign of it yet. You'd think he would have felt it from _someone_. With his lifestyle the past couple years he'd met most of the drag queens and about three quarters of the gay men in the world by now, surely. Kissed a lot of them, slept with a fair number. He wasn't looking for love at all, content with his freedom. But if there was someone who'd make him feel something extraordinary and life changing, surely he'd have seen some sign of them by now?

 

.

 

A week passes with no response from Jose. The text hasn’t even been read. Maybe he’s changed his number?

It’s perfectly reasonable, especially with the notoriety he’s now reaching, but the idea that Jose might have changed his number and not told him the new one makes the bottom drop out of Brock’s stomach. It’s not like they even talk often any more. It just feels so wrong to even imagine.

Brock thinks about messaging him on Instagram but he can only imagine how many messages that would get lost in.

He hates feeling like an outsider who doesn’t know how to reach him. He isn’t some random Ru Girl trying to get drinks. This is his Papi. Jose who he could hold an arm out to and he’d come like a magnet, faster than Henry or Apollo, to crawl up next to him. Jose who cackled and twinkled his eyes at him whenever he made a joke, even a terrible one. Jose who always backed him up to the group, even when it was a really unpopular opinion.

Brock opens his messages and types a wave emoji. He hesitates before sending - should he just wait for Jose to respond? What if he doesn’t respond? Like, ever? He feels awkward and then immediately silly for feeling awkward. He presses send. Then he writes:

_Miss your face! When are you in LA? We should get drinks._

And sends it before he can second guess it.

It’s the next day when Jose finally responds, making Brock jump and drop his phone in the sink:

_Sorry!!! Been swamped. Like a swampy bitch! Whats that I dunno lol. Shits crazy rn. Dont think i can do any time soon. literally be couple months. Sorry boo!_

Months.

It hits Brock like a punch to the gut.

It’s been months since he saw him last. That’s normal for them now. Why does months suddenly feel like forever?

They used to facetime for hours about nothing on a whim, wherever they were, whatever they were in the middle of doing.

Now Brock is such a chore to hang out with it will take Jose _months_ to get around to him?

Brock feels a gritty lump start in his throat.

_Or NY? I’m there this week for a show._

He types and sends, swallowing hard. When emotions come up he remembers why he prefers not to have them.

Of course Jose is busy. Look at his life now. His amazing successful life being talented and brilliant and sexy and...stop.

It’s unrealistic to think he can fit Brock in short notice. There are plenty of Ru Girls Brooke considers good friends and hasn’t seen in way too long, never able to find a time that works. And they aren’t even half as busy as Vanjie. Why is he getting so upset about this?

Jose responds:

_Actually in NY this wk mama! We out Friday come thru!! Sorry dont got time to do nothing proper_

That should make him feel better but it doesn’t really. Brock replies:

_Friday’s my show, not sure what time I finish._

He hopes Jose will suggest another option. He has no idea who “we” is and he’d rather catch up with Jose properly somewhere he can hear him over the music and isn’t competing for his attention. But he gets:

_Come thru if u can! 1 Oak i’ll put u on guest list. Be nice to see u if u make it!_

Brock wants to say something else, ask him how he is, what’s up, keep the conversation going somehow. Facetime him and see if he answers. But his hair looks weird right now and Jose’s tone feels like the end of the conversation. He imagines him throwing down his phone, rushing off to set.

He puts his own phone down. Is overwhelmed by the lump in his throat for ten seconds. Allows himself those ten and then no more. Pushes it aside. Goes to look through wigs for tonight.

He fingers the textured blonde bob and remembers Jose in a hyper mood chasing him around his room in Nashville after a gig, back when they were dating. Screaming that he was a snack, yelling “my baby so fine!”, tackling him to the bed and squeezing his thighs around Brock’s waist, messing up his lipstick before he had chance to take it off, running his hands up Brock’s abs, squeezing his pecs like tits. Kissing up his neck, telling him how good he was gonna suck his dick, how he was gonna lick him beautiful balls to beautiful booty hole, slipping his fingers under this wig to massage Brock’s tired scalp, telling him this was his favorite of all his wigs.

At the time he was worrying Jose’s shouting would frighten the cats and wondering if he should stop them before they got to sex so he could get enough sleep to get up early for dance rehearsal in the morning. Now he wishes he could go back and savor the moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW NOTE IN 2020:  
> Inspired by a friend who is doing it, I have started a new thing where if you enjoyed this chapter and would like to you can [buy me a digital cup of coffee](https://ko-fi.com/poppedthep). I am currently freelancing and the past couple months have been a struggle so every little helps! If you can't or don't want to that's no problem, you are still very welcome to keep reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Brock approaches the 1 Oak bouncer in his new leather jacket, passing a line of attractive people who seem like they really care about looking cool. He feels a bit old and out of place but he’s wearing a beautiful flowy silk shirt that makes him want to twirl, unbuttoned half way, under the jacket, and jeans that hug his ass and he knows he looks good. It isn’t a gay bar but he’s trade even on a straight playing field.

The clothes wouldn’t even matter - everyone tells him he could wear a paper bag and make it look good. It’s widely acknowledged: Brooke Lynn can wear the fuck out of an outfit. As the boy, the body, the moves, the presence behind Brooke Lynn - so can Brock.

The music blares from inside and everyone around him looks modelly and cool. The air smells like an expensive reed diffuser. Even outside somehow.

He’s still buzzed on adrenaline from his show, pushing through the tiredness. At first he could barely focus on his lip syncs, his brain jumping ahead to this. Getting lost in dancing and the adoration of his crowd got him out of his head, got out nervous energy.

Looking at this sleek exclusive club it’s really hitting him how long it’s been since he’s really seen Jose, how different his life might be now. The not knowing what to expect scares him.

In an ideal world he’d be catching up with Jose one on one, somewhere quiet and intimate.

But he has to take what he can get. He just needs to see Jose, reconnect.

Now he’s become aware of missing him, Brock notices him everywhere - every VH1 ad, every time he opens his Netflix, every twitter news story or tabloid headline grabs his attention. Jose seems to get sexier and more unattainable by the day the more Brock thinks about him and he just wants to give him a hug and a kiss and hear his dumb voice and feel normal and happy again.

“We’re full,” the bouncer says, looking Brock up and down.

Brock is immediately offended. He might be in his mid thirties but he knows he looks attractive enough to be here.

The line of attractive cool people waiting silently judge him.

“Uh, I’m on the list? My friend put me on,” Brock has never felt more awkward or Canadian. “Brock Hayhoe?”

The bouncer checks his list, looks at Brock again, almost suspiciously, then moves aside, opening the velvet rope for him in silence. Lovely. How welcoming.

Brock is sweating as soon as he gets inside. The air is both thick with sweat and chilly with air conditioning and he feels gross and clammy instantly. But it still smells expensive and sexy and he wants to keep his jacket on.

He looks hot in the designer leather and he feels weirdly intent on making a good impression. He preens a little when he passes a mirrored wall, checking himself out, sucking in his cheeks, doing a little pout and turning his head side to side.

He looks good. He can’t wait to see Jose’s face when he sees him. That mischievous look he gets when he looks him up and down like he’s a snack. That little smile he only ever does for Brock.

He dodges through what look like literal children drinking and dancing (truly, he is old) heading for a raised gated area at the back he assumes is VIP.

A beam of white light flashes around the club, lighting up the corner, and he sees Jose. He’s bare chested, drowning in a giant white faux fur coat around his shoulders, tight black ripped jeans sculpted to his ass with a studded belt, earring dangling and glinting in the lights, heavy silver chain around his neck, resting across the tattoo Brock has memories of running his tongue over.

His head is thrown back, laughing, drink in hand, holding court in the middle of the group, clearly making the people around him laugh.

Brock’s eyes widen as he realises the woman on Jose’s right is _literally_ Rihanna.

Jose is elbowing her the way he elbowed Brock and Silky hundreds of times, saying something that’s making her stick her tongue out and laugh.

Brock recognises Jennifer Lawrence, Sam Smith, Miley Cyrus, Mark Ronson. There are other attractive, above-it looking people he doesn’t recognise - presumably other actors, musicians or models he’s too old to be hip to.

Feeling like he’s having a surreal out of body experience, Brock heads towards them.

He can’t take his eyes off Jose.

He’s glowing, his mocha skin shimmering in the strobey lights, his grin wider and brighter than Brock has seen it in a long time, his energy so electric Brock can feel it from across the club.

It isn’t that he’s hanging out holding court with huge celebrities that awes Brock. That’s cool. So cool and strange Brock feels a little intimidated. But it’s not that. Brock has met his fair share of celebrities since Drag Race, they're just people - very successful usually interesting people - but people.

It’s just...Jose. Everything about him.

Another bouncer stops Brock in his tracks as he approaches the area.

“Uh, I’m meeting someone. Jose. Vanjie. He’s right there,” Brock points at Jose, who is bent over speaking into someone’s ear, not looking anywhere near him.

“Sure you are,” the bouncer scoffs, laughing at him.

Brock is no Scarlet Envy but he _is_ a queen, somewhat of a star even, in his own right, and it irritates him to be treated like a fan when he’s coming to see an old friend.

“He said he put me on the list. Brock Hayhoe?” his Canadian politeness wins out.

The bouncer gives him an assessing look over and beckons a lady with an earpiece who reminds Brock of PAs on Drag Race, speaking to her inaudibly over his shoulder. She looks at Brock then slips through the VIP area and taps Jose on the shoulder.

Brock watches her ask him if he knows the guy who’s claiming to know him.

He swallows a lump in his throat as Jose looks up and sees him.

A pleased smile breaks out on Jose’s face and he nods, his head bobbing comically fast, his hands flapping, beckoning Brock over enthusiastically.

His energy and gestures are so instantly familiar. Even though he looks like a fancier, shinier, cooler version of himself, Brock feels tightness in his chest loosen.

He can’t have changed that much.

Buoyed by excitement, sparing a second to look smugly at the bouncer, Brock slips between people to get close to him. Jose reaches for him and people part to let him through.

“You came!” Jose shouts, and Brock gets a mouthful of faux fur as he’s grabbed in a hug.

It’s light and over too quickly. Brock feels himself wanting to keep hold of Jose in a hug that transitions into a standing cuddle, like they used to. But he’s already rocked back on his heels.

Brock tries to catch his eye to share one of their private smiles but Jose is looking around them.

“Everybody this is Brock! Everyone be nice to Brock, bitches!” Jose shouts to the group like a bossy schoolchild, and the people around them look at Brock with interest.

They listen. He has been given a seal of approval from Vanjie and Brock can feel the effect that has and is amazed at the power of it.

It’s surreal. Rihanna is kissing his cheek and Mark Ronson is asking him how he knows Vanjie and Miley Cyrus is nudging him saying, “Hey, I know you!”

Jose’s hand wraps around his arm, saying “Brooke Lynn you want a drink?” and waving the PA lady over sweetly asking “Can you get us some Patron baby? And limes, ice and soda and a couple glasses? Thank you babe, keep the change pretty” and handing her a handful of hundreds from a silver bumbag strapped around the back of his bare chest.

Turning back to the group Jose shouts, “Where my drink?” making Brock laugh at him being so Vanjie.

A handsome piece of trade with model cheekbones, pouty lips and tattooed chest bared in an open designer Hawaiian shirt appears from behind them, handing Jose a half full glass.

Jose says, “Thank you baby,” soft and easy and does the pucker he used to make at Brock whenever he wanted a kiss.

The trade pecks his lips and turns back to dancing, shimmying with Rihanna.

Mark Ronson is saying something about political activism in music and Miley is nodding enthusiastically but the blood is rushing in Brock’s ears because he thinks he might understand what he just saw but he’s not sure.

He has to find out.

Jose has been dragged away by Jennifer Lawrence showing him something on her phone that’s making them both laugh.

That laugh. He hasn’t heard it live in so long.

But apparently he’s done catching up with Brock already, done his part as a good host and is leaving him to fend for himself.

Brock smiles politely at Mark and Miley and nudges his way over.

Don’t be silly, he tells himself. You’re cute. You’re fun. It’s Jose. It’s you. He’s happy you’re here. Don’t assume until you know. Just go talk to him.

“It’s good to see you, Papi,” Brock swoops down on Jose, wrapping his arms around him like the old days. He leans down to peck his lips like always, like he does with all his friends.

Jose smiles into the hug but backs away from the kiss, fully leaning away from him.

That has literally never happened before and it takes Brock a moment to process.

“Nuh uh, can’t be doing your kissy shit no more, boo. Got me a man now! And I treat my jush _right_ ,” Jose nudges Jennifer Lawrence and they start doing a pussy popping dance and laughing.

Brock is slow to process all pieces of this information, slightly stunned. Everything seems to slow down and get sharper. The only coherent thought that comes to him is,

“I kiss everyone!” He winces at how bratty he sounds.

“Well we ain’t all hos like you, boo” Jose grins, nudging him, as though Brock is going to laugh along with him, as though it’s nothing.

“I’m loyal, ho! Taken!” Jose cackles as though everything is fine, people chuckling around them at Vanjie being Vanjie.

And it _is_ fine, isn’t it?

So Jose is dating someone. That shouldn’t be so surprising. It’s been a long time since they were together. Since they’ve even spoken properly.

Jose is gorgeous and kind and thoughtful and funny and sexy and handsome and charismatic and special. Of course he has a boyfriend.

Jose is actively searching for love. Of course he’s dating.

Why is Brock so surprised?

Jose had dated other people since they broke up. But none of them had made him lean away from Brock like that.

Why does it feel like rejection?

So he’s reading Brock for being a slut. Nothing that hasn’t been joked about before. Living the way he does it’s a fair read to give Brock, especially apt from Jose of all people.

Why does it hurt then?

“You should meet him,” Jose says more softly, looking at Brock hopefully, resting a warm hand on Brock’s arm that makes tingles run along his spine, smiling the warmest he has since Brock arrived.

Brock smiles back but the moment barely happens before Vanjie is whipping around looking behind him.

“Baby!” he screams, so loud Brock winces. Jennifer Lawrence laughs.

“Hey, I’m Jen,” she smiles at Brock expectantly and all of it is more than he can process.

He doesn’t want to be shaking hands with Jennifer Lawrence in a nightclub in his stupid designer leather jacket. He wants to be catching up with Jose somewhere quiet with just the two of them. He wants to be in a tshirt and sweats with Jose’s body fitted around his sitting so close he’s practically in his lap. He wants those playful eyes sparkling for him, not darting around the club looking for someone else.

Brock realises this is his first experience of spending time with Jose without having Jose’s full attention focussed on him, and he absolutely hates it.

Even when they’d been just friends after dating Jose always had a special smile for him, a little glow when they caught eyes, he’d hug Brock a bit longer and tighter than anyone else.

Now he feels like Jose is no happier or less happy to see him than any of his other friends, just one of a number, being indulged by his generally sweet nature.

It feels awful, like a nightmare where everything looks the same but is all wrong.

The model-looking trade reappears between Jose and Brock and smiles softly as Jose slots himself under his arm, wrapping his other arm around his hip so he drapes around him like a scarf. Like he used to drape around Brock.

It’s really unfair how gorgeous Jose looks, his skin smooth and glowing, his lips pouty, his giant fur and silver chain making him look like some kind of ridiculous sexy pimp. He’s wearing chunky flashy sneakers that Brock isn’t cool enough to identify but can tell must be very hip.

With his cheekboney boyfriend, who has pink heart-shaped sunglasses atop his head - _indoors_ \- _at night_ \- the two of them together could be an ad for being young and sexy in their matching ripped black jeans.

Brock and Jose used to have matching pants. Did Jose buy the trade those jeans like he bought Brock the black and yellow version of his black and red sweatpants? In a bag in his size on his pillow with “Toes <3 :)” on it the very next day after he complimented them. He’d meant more that he liked them on Jose - they fit perfectly, tight in all the right places, and soft under his hands - but Jose had never wasted an opportunity to be generous and thoughtful.

Jose in front of him now blinks sweetly up at the trade in his arms, smiling in that shy private way Brock had once thought no one else would get to see.

“Baby this is Brock, you remember I told you about Brock?” Jose says and Brock instantly and urgently wants to know what this stranger knows about them.

What has Jose told him? Basic details? Or private things, things that were special to them?

How did he describe Brock to his new boyfriend?

He feels violated. He almost asks what Jose said but he already feels dumb enough, he doesn’t want to make it worse.

“Brooke Lynn this Felix, my baby daddy,”

Brock feels like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. He just looks at the two of them.

They look adorable together and he hates it.

Jose keeps calling him Brooke Lynn and it feels so impersonal even though they have always slipped in and out of calling each other drag names, even when they were dating, and especially since they’ve been friends.

He only remembers to speak when he recognises the beginning of a frown starting in Vanjie’s eyes.

“Hi,” he manages. His voice sounds breathy and small to his own ears, like when he used to get told off in school for not speaking up, or bullied for sounding feminine. “Felix, is it?”

“So nice to meet you honey,” Felix smiles brightly and shakes Brock’s hand, looking at him knowingly,

“Aren’t you a tall tasty Canadian snack?” he winks friendly and he has a trace of a European accent and his hand is smooth and delicate but his grip is firm. A perfect handshake and Brock hates him.

“He from Berlin. Real continental,” Jose winks up at the trade who is one of the more attractive humans Brock had ever seen in real life.

Plastique levels of gorgeous but a more masculine handsomeness. Bleach blonde hair falling into his eyes, scruff of stubble around his jaw, unlaced Doc Martins with the tight black ripped jeans, tattoos across his chest and forearms.

Jose is pulled away by Jennifer Lawrence to take selfies which leaves Brock in the conversation he least wants to be in in the world - talking to Jose’s boyfriend.

It quickly becomes apparent that they are both actually quiet people, both reactors, neither particularly skilled at leading the conversation. Both smiling politely and looking around awkwardly with perfect posture. Brock hates every similarity he sees between them. The trade even has a leather jacket tied around his waist.

The worst part is Jose’s boyfriend seems perfectly nice. He’s an artist, quietly funny, he speaks softly and has a disarming gentleness to his energy. His voice gets even softer when he speaks about Jose, awed and loving. He’s supportive and sweet, everything Jose deserves.

And he seems genuinely concerned at how noticeably uncomfortable Brock is becoming.

“The club it’s a lot yeah? Not my thing either,” he commiserates.

“I like to dance though,” he shimmies adorably and Brock feels sick.

He feels older, tireder and less cute every second he spends near this sweet Berlin snack,

“We don’t usually go out much. But it’s nice because it’s one of the only times he gets to see people. He’s so busy...Are you okay, honey?” Berlin puts a hand on Brock, right where Jose’s had been, and it’s all too much. He can’t think.

He doesn’t want a stranger telling him what Jose does and what he likes. That’s his to know. He should be the one telling Cheekbones Berlin how busy Jose is.

Has Jose told him about his abuela and tito in Puerto Rico? About the time he broke his arm climbing a tree to save a baby bird? Nearly getting arrested for hijacking a shopping cart on Homecoming? Does he know Jose used to be irrationally scared of butterflies? That he has to put chocolate on both sides of the marshmallow in s’mores?

Brock wants to shout out everything personal Jose has ever told him just to prove he knows him better.

But what if he doesn’t anymore?

What if Jose likes different things now, has new fears and new stories and Brock won’t be the person who knows him best anymore. He can hear Jose’s laugh cutting over the music and he looks over and sees him winking and pouting into Jennifer Lawrence’s phone, the cute pucker of his lips so familiar but everything is different now.

Brock feels like he might faint or throw up or cry and he doesn’t want anyone to see him do any of those.

He has to get out of there.

“I’m just going to go outside for a cigarette,” he tries to sound nonchalant, turning quickly away as he feels the burn of tears start in his throat.

 

.

 

He must have been more obvious than he hoped because when it’s been too long and Brock hasn’t come back, Jose kisses his boyfriend’s cheek and tells him he’ll be back he’s going to check Brock’s okay.

 

.

 

Jose finds Brock around the side of the club, butt against the brick wall, bent over his knees, having a panic attack.

Brock feels him watching and straightens immediately like he’s in ballet class, wiping his eyes and trying to stop crying enough to breathe normally. But his chest squeezes and he can’t get enough air and he feels sick. Jose blurs through his tears and he’s so embarrassed.

“Oh, baby,” Jose says, in the softest version of his voice. The one Brock is one of the few people to have ever heard.

Brock hasn’t heard that voice in so long. It’s a million miles from brash celebrity Vanjie at the club. It’s his Jose, and it feels like coming home and Brock cries harder.

Then Jose is right next to him with his hand rubbing his back, a warm pressure over Brock’s jacket, and looking intently at him, concern in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Brock manages to say, feeling so silly. He hasn’t felt this embarrassed and insignificant since he was being bullied in high school and he hates that Jose is seeing this. This is not at all what he was hoping for tonight. It’s so the opposite.

“You don’t gotta be sorry…”

Jose is interrupted by screams of “Miss Vaaaanjie!” as he’s recognised by fans outside the club.

“I'll be back boo, jus' a minute,” he rubs Brock’s back once more before he goes over and takes pictures with each of the fans, smiling sweetly and telling them he loves them too with the patience of a saint. He keeps glancing back at Brock worriedly and Brock wants to curl into himself until he disappears.

Eventually Jose asks the bouncer to keep people away so he can check on his friend and he pulls Brock further around the side of the building, where no one can see them, little hand wrapped around Brock’s wrist.

Brock has managed to get a bit of control back and it’s hard to look directly at Jose who is looking at him like he wants to help but doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Brock wants the ground to swallow him up.

“Feelin better baby?” Jose wraps a concerned arm around him, which he can only do because Brock is hunched.

Brock knows Jose calls everyone baby freely. He’s heard him call the lady PA and the bouncer baby in the past hour. But every time Jose calls him baby he remembers times Jose would call him _my baby_ with possession heavy in his voice and he wants kiss him softly on the mouth and suck on his tongue.

He shakes his head to clear it, still sniffling a little.

“I’m fine. This is so stupid,” he feels like he’s blushing and knows he’s blotchy from crying.

He wishes he could see himself in a mirror, sort his face out, but then again he probably doesn’t want to know what he looks like right now.

“It’s just a lot. Seeing you with...and everything. It’s... I didn’t think it would feel like this,” he exhales shakily, his breathing settling down as he stops crying. It feels like years of bottled up crying have just burst out.

Jose is looking at him so kind and pitying, realization dawning.

It’s so embarrassing.

“Aww boo. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. If I’da known you was feelin some type a way about us still I never woulda told you to come like this tonight. I wouldn’t’ve… Shit. I thought you was over it a long time ago,” Jose is frowning, concern and confusion on his face and his eyes are so kind and so pretty.

All his attention is on Brock, finally, but not in the right way.

A breeze ruffles his fur coat and earring. His dark nipples pucker from chill on his bare chest and Brock looks away, quickly, so he’s not caught staring.

He’s so cute. Brock has a weakness, a soft spot, for cute. For sweetness.

It’s how he found himself making out with Nina West (so not his usual type) twice, why they’re the best of friends to this day. It’s one of the things that kept him with Jose for three-nearly-four months in the first place, trying to live up to the boyfriend Jose hoped he’d be, when it all felt so scary and new and uncomfortable. Brock’s fiercely protected sensitive heart wants sweetness, goes goey for cute things.

When he’s on Grindr Brock likes to think he’s into tough manly men, picks up ripped guys with beards and full body tattoos who make him feel delicate when they fuck, even though he’s 6’3 and could crush someone with his thighs.

His sense of humor is sarcastic, sometimes even cutting, he often comes across cold, and the guys he follows on Instagram and Only Fans are a collection of jacked masculine beefcakes.

But secretly Brock is a Disney Princess inside and his heart melts and swoons for cuteness.

Jose is possibly the most objectively cute human who has ever lived, yet somehow still completely boyish and rough around the edges in a way that makes Brock want to call him Papi and get on his knees for him, makes him want to curl into his side and lay his head on his shoulder, makes him feel like no matter how many times he comes inside him he’s the one getting fucked. Jose is a perfect storm of attractive for both parts of his psyche, his dick and his heart.

It kills Brock that he’s so trade and so cute right in front of him and he can’t do anything about it.

He used to be able to touch Jose whenever he wanted. Even when they were just friends.

His hands itch to grab Jose’s jaw, to run his fingers over his cheekbones, his thumbs over his lips, his lips across his forehead. He wants to pull him close by his silver chain, trace his fingertips down his sides, lick his chest tattoo, bite his nipples, kiss down his abs. He wants to get on his knees and undo that belt with his teeth.

He wants to kiss the freckle at the top of Jose’s smooth soft ass cheek. He knows it’s there under Jose’s tight jeans, can never unknow it, and it’s incomprehensible to him not to have lifetime access to that freckle because he always thought of it as _his_.

He wants to kiss Jose’s pouty mouth, shining with lipbalm in the streetlight. _Oh he wants._ It’s the only thing he wants in the world right now.

There was a time he could have done any of that, any time he wanted. Now he can’t. It’s claustrophobic.

Never mind that he’s being so embarrassingly unsexy Jose will feel like nothing more than a mother duck towards him after this. If he’s lucky.

“Sorry, I must look so disgusting, crying all over you like this. Ugggg,” Brock looks to the night sky in exasperation with himself.

“Don’t play, you know damn well you fine as hell, even with you eyes all puffy,” Jose does an exaggerated eye roll.

The familiarity of it makes Brock smile.

“And don’t be makin me tell you how fine you are no more, I’m a married woman, bitch!” Jose wags his finger at him playfully, leaning in and looking up at him hopefully, trying to get him to smile.

Brock can’t help giving him a smile when he’s looking at him like that.

He feels the absence of Jose giving him a pleased kiss on the cheek like he would have for a smile before.

“We should catch up proper, get a coffee. Lemme see what I can do this week,” Jose gets out his phone and starts looking through his calendar for things he can move around with infinite kindness and Brock is hit with feeling humbled at how thoughtful he’s being and ashamed at how silly he feels.

“No it’s okay. You’re really busy. Don’t worry about me. It’s fine, honestly. It was just a shock. I think it just hit me.” Brock pulls at the ends of his jacket sleeves, watching his finger tattoos disappear in and out of them.

“Yeah?” Jose says thoughtfully, as though the fact that Brock is just now realising they are definitely over is a mystery to him.

“You don’t have to make time for me. I’m fine,” Brock gives himself a shake.

He tries to pull himself together like he’s about to go on stage, tries to draw his Brooke Lynn ice queen mask on but it’s not quite coming and his voice cracks as he tries to speak.

“Go back inside, enjoy your night. It’s my own fault. It’s...”

“Don’t say that,” Jose says softly.

Brock knows Jose is exceptionally sweet and thoughtful, has bragged to people about it, but it still floors him how kindly and graciously he’s handling this.

He gently wipes the tears under Brock’s eyes with his thumbs. It’s so tender and it’s Jose’s stubby little thumbs, he knows these thumbs so well, that it makes more tears come. Jose catches them too.

“You was real sweet to me about it when I done been still hung up on your ho ass. Now it’s my turn, bitch!” Brock sees Jose smile through the blur in his eyes.

He nudges Brock in the ribs conspiratorially. Brock tries to smile back even though his chest hurts with each breath and his face feels numb.

He has no desire to go back inside the club like this, he just wants to run away home and try pretend this embarrassing night never happened. Jose offers to call his driver for him and Brock declines forcefully, blushing, because that’s absolutely ridiculous.

So Jose makes sure he gets into a Lyft. Squeezes his shoulder when he hugs him.

He still won’t kiss him but he tells him to text him when he gets home and maybe it’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW NOTE IN 2020:  
> Inspired by a friend who is doing it, I have started a new thing where if you enjoyed this chapter and would like to you can [buy me a digital cup of coffee](https://ko-fi.com/poppedthep). I am currently freelancing and the past couple months have been a struggle so every little helps! If you can't or don't want to that's no problem, you are still very welcome to keep reading!


	3. Chapter 3

They have coffee two days later in Jose’s hotel room, because he doesn’t want to be recognised out somewhere.

The boyfriend is thankfully nowhere to be seen, but his clothes and shoes and wash bag are scattered around the suite, reminding Brock there is no place for him here.

Brock cancels three gigs to extend his stay a few more days to make it work, sending Steve and Courtney into a panic spiral, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s sure Jose had to go to more trouble.

Tucked into an oversized hotel chair drowning in his big faux fur, a tiny orange vest exposing most of his chest, pyjama sweats slung low on his hips, plastic glasses atop his head, Jose looks smaller. Less glamorous and new and scary, more familiar.

As much as he enjoys Vanjie when he’s _on_ , Brock feels honored he gets to be one of the people allowed to see the quieter unperformative side of Jose.

Brock has been stalking his instagram the past two days, between lying in bed numbly staring at the ceiling and doing another show last minute, hiring rehearsal space to choreograph, booking more gigs, running along the East River, doing anything to keep himself too busy to think.

After two days of scrolling through pictures of him (and one particularly masochistic night of scrolling through old pictures of _them_ ) and that fucking Netflix trailer that won’t stop autoplaying it’s surreal to see the real Jose sat quietly there in front of him.

He looks tired, his dazzle dimmed to a luminous candle glow, remnants of glitter around his hairline, chest and shoulders, as he chatters softly about the premier last night and interviews he has to do later.

Brock wants to tell him he’s tired too and they can be tired together but he doesn’t want to say anything too sentimental and start crying again.

Jose watches Brock with soft concern which is both embarrassing and makes his chest hurt that he can’t lean over and kiss him. He grips his coffee tight so his hands don't betray him and try and reach over. So he doesn't have to see Jose lean away from him again.

“Sorry about the other night. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Ain’t gotta be sorry, boo,” Jose leans forward, his gaze trailing all over Brock’s face. Brock feels see-through.

“You doin okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking about life and stuff lately. What’s important to me. It was silly. I’m sorry.”

“I feel bad. If I’da known you was still in your feelings about us I never woulda said to meet us there like that.”

“It’s okay, honestly, you don’t have to baby me.”

“No but you was so good with me when I wasn’ over you yet.”

Brock sips too fast, the coffee burning his tongue. The unstated implication that Jose is now over him slices through his stomach.

Even though, duh. What did he expect after all this time?

Jose was actively looking for love. Not everyone was like him, content to drift independently indefinitely. He was the one who backed out, called it off. It’s ridiculous to feel like he should have gotten some kind of warning.

Jose wanted romantic, exclusive, fairytale love more than anything, upfront about it from the start, and he'd done nothing to show he had any interest in a committed relationship since he changed his phone background as they flew out of Toronto officially broken up several Octobers ago.

Of course Jose would move on.

He just hadn’t thought about what that would feel like.

And he doesn’t know how true it is that he was good with Jose back then. He did his best. Now that he feels this he knows he could have been kinder, not that he could have known it at the time.

But Jose is looking at him all gentle and concerned, a little frown on his otherwise smooth forehead, so Brock forces a smile on his face and ploughs ahead with small talk.

“So you’re doing well,” he manages a playful grin and it sparks in his gut when Jose returns it.

“Yeah, bitch. It’s crazy.”

They talk about their lives, their careers, which Ru Girls they’ve stayed in touch with.

Brock is surprised and jealous to hear Vanjie and Nina go out for drinks sometimes. And more surprised to hear Vanjie and Silky drifted apart.

He says he misses her. Brock misses Jose and he’s sat there talking to him.

They talk a little about his boyfriend, Jose’s eyes wide and careful the whole time, watching Brock as though trying to protect him from the conversation even while having it.

“He seems nice,”

“Yeah he a babe, he real sweet. I like him a lot.” Jose smiles a little involuntary smile that really stings.

“How bout you, you got anybody?”

Jose smiles hopefully at him. Brock smiles back though it feels stiff and awkward.

“You know me. Keeping my options open,” He attempts a wink and a laugh that feels forced. The words feel stale in his mouth.

There was a time anything other than that felt inconceivable to him.

He still likes the idea in theory, but when he thinks about actual people, his actual life.....Lately he’s not sure that is what he wants, who he wants to be anymore.

Fuck, he really must be getting old.

 

.

 

They keep in better touch after that.

Brock knows it’s just because Jose is worried about him, because Jose knows how it feels to be not over them and is the kindest person he knows with the best heart.

He’ll take it, even if it feels embarrassingly like charity.

They text a couple times a month, sharing funny memes, stories about their days, cute cat videos.

Although they’re so different as people they always did have very compatible senses of humor. It’s a relief that whatever else has changed they still find each other funny.

They fall back into some of their old banter and find new things to tease each other about.

At one point they both start rewatching The Office and get into a running commentary.

Eight months pass and the comfort and joy Brock gets from their regular exchanges outweighs the regret and sadness he feels about missing his chance with Jose.

Brock hooks up with anyone and everyone he feels like in whatever city he’s in and goes on the occasional date in LA and if he misses Jose he texts him and Jose replies with actual conversation now and it’s fine.

They have drinks or dinner every couple months when their schedules align. Once with Nina too. Quiet drinks. No clubs, no boyfriends, just them and catching up. Usually at a private club or whatever hotel Jose’s at because he worries about public places now. He can’t go everywhere.

Once he comes to watch Brooke Lynn with a baseball cap pulled low over his face. He has to sneak out the back before the end because when she drops into a front split he whoops and starts making it rain on her with hundreds and the crowd notice and scream so much it disrupts the show.

Brock remembers the last time Jose came to see Brooke Lynn, back when he was doing very well but not so busy they’d lost touch. Back when Brock knew they’d kiss before the end of the night.

Jose had tipped him that time with a string of diamonds. Actual diamonds. Held them up in the sea of ones, shaking his hand impatiently until Brooke realised he couldnt ignore him and took them. Grinning huge and pleased when Brooke caught his eye as she mouthed “something bout you”.

Brock remembers turning the beautiful necklace in his hands after, feeling like a high class whore with a sugar daddy. Jose coming backstage, awe in his eyes, voice low and soft telling him he was a Greek God, kissing him in full Brooke Lynn drag, making out so sloppily they knocked all her makeup off her dressing table when she picked him up and sat him on it to get between his thighs.

A video of the tipping got shared on social media and for months after fans showed up holding out necklaces as tips. Sadly none of them Tiffany like the original.

Once Jennifer Lawrence joins their catch up drinks and Brock finds when he’s not on the verge of a panic attack he actually enjoys her company. Jose has great taste in people and attracts good people to him, surrounds himself with them. All the friends of his Brock’s ever met, from when they were dating until now, have always been down to earth and lovely.

It doesn’t feel like old times and Brock can’t touch Jose wherever he wants or play kiss with him like he does with Nina, but it’s okay.

They laugh and get some of their old easy banter back and he feels older now and Jose is part of his life and he’ll take what he can get.

 

.

 

One morning Brock’s twitter trending tab declares VANJIE BREAK UP DRAMA and he taps through to a story with paparazzi photos of Jose and his beautiful boyfriend in an intense conversation at an outdoor cafe, along with sources confirming their break up.

He opens up his messages with Jose and is about to type something when he realises he doesn’t know what to say.

It’s none of his business and he really doesn’t want to hear any more than he has to about Vanjie’s boyfriend.

(Although Jose was painfully tactful, the boyfriend occasionally came up in anecdotes, vacation stories, casual references, and it still stung every time.)

Of all the friends he could talk with, Jose is hardly going to want to talk to Brock about a breakup.

It may not even be true and how embarrassing would that be?

So he puts his phone down and goes for a run and when he comes back he starts choreographing a new routine en pointe until his toes bleed and very determinedly does not think about it.

In his instagram notifications the next morning fans have tagged him in screenshots of articles about the break up. Less than there used to be in peak Branjie era but they’re there.

He removes the tags from his profile, puts his phone down, and does not think about it.

Brock absolutely hates anyone telling him what to do, gets a knee jerk reaction to do the opposite every time.

Even if he hadn’t already decided against messaging, the “omg @bhytes propose?!? <3 uwu” captions make him want to throw his phone across the room.

He got used to ignoring his instagram tags years ago but it hasn’t been a problem in a while.

He picks up a cookbook and decides to learn how to make risotto.

 

.

 

Two days later Jose texts him a quote from Dwight and he replies with a quote from Jim and does not mention anything else. Neither does Jose.

They watch an episode together, live commenting to each other over text throughout.

Brock drinks half a bottle of wine and sends Jose selfies of him and Henry and gets back selfies of Jose and Riley snuggled in a blanket and it’s the most fun he’s had in weeks.

Half way through the episode he almost suggests they facetime. But that feels too intimate and he knows he’d probably say something he’d regret. Half a bottle of wine gets him white girl wasted these days. He’s officially old now.

He realises a couple days later it’s Valentine’s Day.

He’s never spent Valentine’s Day with anyone before and he continues to ignore it this year as usual.

He doesn’t go on Grindr that night because it feels a bit pathetic for some reason. Even though this is a meaningless commercial holiday invented to take people’s money. Even though the whole idea of a society of couples is an outdated human construct. Even though Brock prefers his freedom, doesn’t get lonely on his own.

He eats Chinese food with his cats who he loves more than anyone in the world and tries not to think about the fact that cats don’t live as long as humans.

 

.

 

Five weeks later the weather’s starting to get warmer and Jose texts that he’s in town, home, asks if Brock wants to come over for a catch up.

He says they could watch a movie or something. Brock brings a bottle of red.

It’s his first time in Jose’s new place. It’s gorgeous. Lavish and expensive, obviously, but with quirky banjie touches that scream Vanjie.

Lots of warm earth tones, reds, oranges, terracottas, exposed brick, hardwood floors, a marble kitchen island, bold artsy lamps, a big wooden kitchen table, a giant bathtub Brock tries not to let his mind linger on. Cosy crimson living room walls with cream sofas and a fluffy faux fur leopard rug Brock curls his toes into, setting Jose off on jokes about his nasty feet.

It’s both extra and homey, it feels very Jose. Brock is comfortable as soon as he sits down.

They’re two wines in and haven’t even thought about the movie when the subject turns to dating.

They’re sat across the room from each other in Jose’s plush chairs, Jose looking tiny and cute again, but in a shirt this time, unbuttoned to mid chest, his pecs more defined every time Brock sees them, his cheekbones and collarbones catching the low light, so handsome.

He feels far away on the other side of the room, but he’s animated with an almost nervous energy. His eyes are sparkling and Brock feels more drawn into them with each sip of the wine, so it’s probably for the best he’s too far to touch.

“So you get yourself a man yet, ho?” Jose asks, and his cackle of laughter as he slaps the arm of his chair is familiar and delicious.

Brock doesn’t even answer right away, just grins a pleased little smile at him, enjoying him, until he notices that Jose is watching him intently, interested in his answer.

“Not really,” he casts around his mind for the most recent dates he’s been on.

Attractive guys, a few he’s seen more than once, bodies he’s enjoyed fucking, people he could chat to for a drink or two without getting too bored, but no one that’s really stood out to him, captured his attention. No one of note. But he doesn’t want to sound absolutely pathetic to mister commitment over there.

“Seeing a few people, nobody special,” he goes with, intentionally light and vague.

“Shoulda known, your ho ass,” Jose shakes his head but then he stops, looking at his lap, smiling softly to himself. He looks nervous.

“I’m single too, by the way. Wanted to tell you,” he says, not looking up.

For the most confident man Brock has ever known, he’s become suddenly very shy.

He was never shy like this climbing into Brock’s lap in the backseat of the Drag Race van. Or when he pressed his lips to Brock’s eyebrow on a rowboat in Chicago and told him he loved him. Or when he ran his hands up Brock’s chest in a club the first time after their break up, telling him if he was gonna be a ho with everybody he could be a ho with him too.

Back then he charged ahead like he had nothing to lose.

“Didn’t work out with the boyfriend?” Brock tries to sound caring and not pleased. Surprised enough that Jose won’t tell he’s read five TMZ articles about it.

“What happened?”

Jose looks up a bit, but only as high as the rug, not reaching Brock’s eyes.

“Jus ended all natural like, you know. It happens,” he sighs. He picks up his wine, swirls it and stares into the glass.

“He real sweet. We had a good thing going. Jus ran the course. Nothin bad, no Cheaters shit or nothin. Towards the end we could tell it was windin’ down. Seasons change, you know, all that shit. What’s that saying?” he flaps his free hand.

“It ain’t that. Anyway. He gone now. Took his ass back to Berlin,” Jose bites his lip and looks up. Puts down the wine glass.

"Did you....were you in love?" Brock wants to kick himself as soon as he asks. Why did he ask that? He wants to take the question back immediately. Doesn't want to hear the answer. 

Jose's eyebrows pop up like he's surprised Brock asked too, but he answers. 

“Sure, for a minute. I cared about him a lot...he was real good to me...we was..." Jose looks thoughtful, shakes his head, "...He ain’t my Noah,” he laughs softly, pursing his lips, knowing Brock is going to laugh at him.

Brock does.

It’s such a stupid Vanjie thing to say and wonderfully familiar. He may have changed in some ways but the heart of him Brock knows is still there.

Jose slaps the arm of the chair cackling at himself, and Brock is giggling too.

“He ain’t my Richard Gere in a white limousine climbing up the fire escape with flowers bitch!” his eyes sparkle with amusement at Brock in a way that feels just for him again and oh how he’s missed being the focus of that attention. He feels it settle on him warm and special and overwhelming.

And. _And_. Brock can’t help the possibility starting to bubble in his stomach.

Jose is single. From the horse’s mouth.

If Cheekbones Berlin isn’t Jose’s Noah, then the position is still available.

And Jose is still talking, softly, as though afraid of the impact of the words.

“I know it was a while back, you probly over it now and all, but I wanted to let you know, in case…”

Brock has crawled across the rug and is kneeling in front of Jose before he's aware of making the decision to move. His body knowing best, as usual.

Jose blinks at him, surprised. He's leaning back in the chair, legs wide and it’s as natural as breathing for Brock to rise on his knees between them and pull Jose forward with hands on either side of his face to kiss him.

Just once. But thoroughly. Just to show him without a shadow of a doubt how completely and totally ready he is to do something about this new piece of information.

He pulls back, but not far, still holding Jose’s face in his hands.

Jose’s eyes are wide and open to him, vulnerable in a way that makes his heart clench. A way he wasn’t sure he’d ever earn the right to see again.

His gorgeous lips are parted, breathing heavily, and all Brock wants to do is kiss him and kiss him.

Jose is looking between Brock’s eyes and his mouth and must be having the same thought because his lips pucker into their familiar demand like an involuntary twitch and he leans in to touch their lips again and then they are _kissing_ , properly kissing.

Brock knew he missed Jose but he didn’t even realize how much he missed this. Jose slides off the chair at the same time as Brock pulls him down into his lap, both inhaling sharply at the feeling of their bodies pressing together completely again.

They can’t get close enough, their tongues sliding together deliciously, settling into a perfect rhythm with each other that their mouths clearly haven’t forgotten. Their hands run everywhere, stroking over backs, shoulders, arms, chests, pulling hair, grabbing ass. Jose grinds down on him and Brock pants into his mouth. Jose purrs roughly in the back of his throat, and he is Brock’s favorite thing in the world.

“Missed you,” Jose says roughly into Brock’s neck, pressing kisses along it, biting his earlobe.

“I missed you too. So much,” Brock breathes, and Jose makes a broken little noise, kisses the shell of his ear.

He can’t believe this is happening. He talked himself out of wishing for it so often it feels unreal now.

Jose feels like pure energy in his arms. Holding him is like putting your arms around electricity. Tingles run down his spine with each kiss.

He wants to pick Jose up and carry him over to a bed to lay him out and kiss him everywhere but he also never wants to move, never wants to stop kissing him right here, never wants him to stop grinding circles into his lap.

It hits Brock very clearly through the fog of wanting what he has to do now. He can’t waste another moment not asking while he has the opportunity.

“Can I take you on a date?” he breathes into Jose’s mouth, not willing to stop kissing for long enough to pull away.

“Yeees,” he hears the pleased little smile in Jose’s voice before he feels it against his mouth.

Another thought enters Brock’s mind. He momentarily doubts it. But it’s Jose. The most romantic person he knows.

He’s been in love with this man for years. Fuck it.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” he breathes into their kisses, voice soft but not at all afraid.

He’s never felt freer. It feels like flying. Like a grand jete.

Jose laughs delighted surprise into his mouth and hums,

“Yeeesss, baby. Yes, toes,” with such love in his voice, pulling back to look at him so tenderly.

Then his mouth is on him again, and Brock feels warm all over, flushing and smiling like an idiot.

He feels as giddy as he did back in the werq room sneaking kisses on TV from the cute boy with all the charisma but this time a relationship isn’t scary.

It’s right. It’s precious. It’s something he can’t believe he gets the chance at again.

Before it felt like a burden, this time it’s an opportunity.

Jose pulls back again, still looking at him so tenderly, the tiniest frown creasing his forehead, shaking his head, as the full impact of the words catches up with him.

“Hold up you mean _boyfriend_ boyfriend tho?” he asks softly, 

“Thought your ho ass don’t do boyfriends," he pokes Brock in the stomach.

Brock shakes his head, shrugs and blushes, “Until you.”

He can’t really explain it. He’ll try but for now all he wants to do is kiss the man he’s been waiting months to kiss again. Kiss him all over. Reacquaint himself with that freckle.

“Until me, huh?” Jose smiles slow and smug but still looks a little cautious.

“Just call me Richard Gere bitch!” Brock giggles and Jose falls on top of him laughing, kissing him into the rug.

Then he pushes off Brock and takes a breath to steady himself, pokes a finger sharply into Brock’s chest. Gives him a steely assessing look, though his eyes keep flicking to his mouth. It looks like it’s taking him effort not to fall back down on him and keep kissing but his eyes are serious and sharp.

“Don’t be messin me around with that shit boo. We can kiss and fuck and it don’t gotta mean nothing but don’t go saying shit like that to me unless you mean it.”

“I mean it. I promise,” Brock leans up to try and kiss him but Jose leans away, pursing his lips, crossing his arms, unconvinced.

“Don’t play.”

“I swear, baby, I mean it.” Brock’s stomach gets warm at the look in Joses eyes when he calls him baby.

He tugs his arms uncrossed, holds his hands, links their fingers. He looks him square in the eye, trying to convey his sincerity when all he wants to do is cover him in kisses now and talk about this later.

“That shit mean something to me, twinkle toes,” Jose says quiet and serious. It’s like he wants to believe Brock but can’t.

“You know what I’m like. It’ll fuck me up if you sayin that now and takin it back in a couple weeks.” Jose smiles self deprecatingly but his eyes are getting softer, warm and hopeful despite his defensiveness.

“I know, boo boo,” Jose’s been in his lap minutes, if that, and Brock is already feeling unbearably soft, old pet names tripping off his tongue like honey.

“I won’t. I don’t want to. I mean who knows what’ll happen, I can’t _promise_ promise,” he says, not wanting to lie, knowing it’s up to him to be the voice of realism.

“But it won’t be like before. It feels different now.”

“Does don’t it?” Jose agrees thoughtfully. He moves their linked hands to trace Brock's cheekbone lightly with his index finger, studying his face carefully. “Hmm," he exhales a soft sigh. "Yeah, it do.”

Brock is very aware of Jose’s thighs on either side of him, his dick hard against his. He tries so hard to focus on not taking the easy escape and grinding up into him. He can do this conversation. He can.

“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” he says, truthfully, “Longer. Years. I really want to be your boyfriend. More than anything.”

He rolls his eyes at having to say the next part, it feels patronizing, but he knows Jose needs it from him or he won’t relax and let them keep kissing,

“More than doing whatever the fuck I want.”

He feels Jose let out a breath. He squeezes their linked hands.

“I love you. I’m _in love_ with you. I want you most of all.”

Jose makes a hmmm noise and clicks his tongue real sassy but it’s either a trick of the light or there are tears in his eyes.

“Well look who gone and grown up huh Brooke Lynne” Jose says, voice thick with emotion, both teasing and impressed.

“Look who giving me my Notebook speech. You kissin me in the rain next?" He is so pleased, eyes shining,

"We gonna have the full experience? Cuz you know I want you to carry me to bed and pull off my stockings real slow. You know I want them kisses and pancakes in the morning. Get these pancakes,” he's joking now, unbearably smug and bratty.

“Oh shut up,” Brock rolls his eyes and he makes him by pulling him down and kissing him.

He’s starting to lose feeling in his legs in this position, they’ll have to get up or at least shift soon, and there are certainly more things to talk about.

Having a real long term relationship, making it last, will be new ground for them. Especially for him.

Jose is still a very different person than him, with different values and expectations.

But he’s Brock’s person.

Brock has never wanted anyone strongly enough to try to make it work but oh he wants this. He wants Jose. Brock wants to make this work like he’s never wanted anything.

He wants to believe little Jose in the werq room years ago who said _if you want it to work it’ll work_. He wants to live in a world where that can be true. He’s always believed a person shapes their own destiny. So if that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll make happen. He can do it. _They_ can.

Their schedules are still crazy. But the difference between them is less crazy than it was before, when Jose was everywhere and he was only in Nashville. Plus they have the kind of money now that makes international travel feel like taking a cab. The world starts to feel smaller.

They both, theoretically, live in LA.

He’s more comfortable with Jose now, after years of friendship and bickering, than when they were first dating, still new and sweet and feeling like they could only be complimentary. He would feel no hesitation now calling Jose out, telling him straight when he’s being ridiculous or paranoid or extra. Which he often is. Even though time and crazy fame and the reality of living have considerably mellowed and sobered him.

Brock’s also less and less interested the older he gets in random strangers. He’s sure there must be great people he has yet to meet. Certainly people he would enjoy fucking, especially if he’s somewhere and horny and Jose is miles away. Maybe even other people he could fall in love with. He likes the abstract idea of the freedom to do that. But the reality? A lot of people he meets now mostly bore him or are hard to relate to and no one he meets has ever been as engaging as Jose. Jose who makes everybody fall in love with him, Brock included. Maybe he’s getting old and cranky or maybe just clearer on what he likes, wants.

While he’s not about to campaign for the sanctity of monogamy any time soon, the idea of being able to fuck anyone has become distinctly meh compared to having a second chance to hold Jose like this again, kiss him whenever he wants. The thought of getting to hear Jose tell him he loves him again makes more tingles run down his spine.

No sooner does he think that than Jose is kissing up his neck, swearing it into his ear, _I love you too, toes,_ nuzzling the side of his face,  _ain't never stop and baby I ain't never gonna,_ like a promise.

And _this_ is feeling alive. _This_ is winning.

He can already feel how well they’ll work together. There was never anything wrong with him and Jose except the timing and circumstances. He’s old and tired and sentimental and in love and he’s grateful, so grateful, they might have finally got it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats if you made it all the way through to the end of this epic tale! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> NEW NOTE IN 2020:  
> Inspired by a friend who is doing it, I have started a new thing where if you enjoyed this story and would like to you can [buy me a digital cup of coffee](https://ko-fi.com/poppedthep). I am currently freelancing and the past couple months have been a struggle so every little helps! If you can't or don't want to that's no problem, you are still very welcome to keep reading!


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